Uprising: A Red Alert 3 Story
by Lukeovich
Summary: <html><head></head>The loyal sons and daughters of the Soviet Union fight to restore their beloved motherland.  Sequel to Peacekeepers</html>


**Uprising: A Red Alert 3 Story**

_Moscow, Apartment Complex 15: 1823 Local Time_

It had been one year since Grigory Petrov had witnessed the fall of his country and in celebration of that humiliating day, he had drunk himself insensible. It was not the first time the former Tesla Trooper had done this and most of those who knew him were certain that it wouldn't be the last time either.

He sat inside his dingy apartment and watched sullen-eyed as Allied Peacekeepers marched down streets that he had once trod as a proud member of the Red Army. It didn't help that he was getting drunk on alcohol that had been imported from the European Union Markets.

The day was nearing its end and Grigory, tired of sitting alone in his house, decided to seek comfort in the company of strangers. There was a nearby bar that he would frequent if his personal supplies began to run low and on this day they were very low indeed. He staggered out the front door and into the snowy twilight trying to pull on an old overcoat in the process. He took a moment to steady himself then swayed uncertainly before heading down the street. Twenty minutes later Girgory had to admit he was lost, his intoxication and the dark combined with a sudden increase of snowfall had made him wander far off course.

It was getting cold, much too cold for even his massive army-issue overcoat to keep him warm and Grigory began to lose feeling in his limbs. He staggered towards a nearby house and beat on the door but no one answered. Turning around he slipped on a patch of ice and cracked his head hard on the concrete.

"Huh, never thought I'd die in a gutter…" he thought as he faded away.

_Moscow, Allied Processing Center: 0345_

"Detainee's name is…Petrov, Girgory, former member of the Red Army. He served as a Tesla Trooper during the war." The Processing clerk's voice was almost robotic as she read the file to her commander. Grigory himself was laid out on a cot in a nearby cell. The staff had wrapped him up in order to keep him warm and then immediately ran his face and prints through the Allied EPW records.

"He was captured shortly after the destruction of the Peter and Paul Fortress by Peacekeepers of the 1-01 CAAB. He was cleared of War Crimes by the Prisoner Assessment Department and released six months later. He's been working for the Soviet Reconstruction Bureau since then."

"That's it?" Said the Station Commander from behind her shoulder.

"That's it sir." Replied the clerk.

"Then what the hell is he doing marked on our Immediate Detention list?" wondered the commander out loud.

"Maybe one of the contract companies involved in the reconstruction wants him for questioning?" Answered the clerk as she began to fill out a processing form.

"You mean FutureTech…I've heard they've ben scooping up former tesla troopers recently. Supposedly they're working on some kind of new power armor or something. I bet someone wants to replace the frontline Peacekeepers with some kind of cybernetics soldier."

"Probably sir." The clerk replied, not really paying attention. Her station commander was prone to wild speculation regarding anything involving FutureTech. More than likely they were just after his expertise in operating the many Tesla suits recovered in the aftermath of Leningrad.

The commander gave a quick look at the form the clerk had filled out then went to his office to call up the incident. He picked up the phone and began to punch in numbers until he realized there was no dial tone. He stood up to try the phone in the reception area when the clerk suddenly called out to him.

"Sir, the computer has lost all connectivity. It just dropped."

"My phone isn't working either. You think they might be related?"

"It could be some maintenance the techs are running, sir. You know they never let anyone know when the servers will be shut down."

"Hrm…Just in case call up the security detail and have them start checking the place out. I don't want anyone to sneak in or out just because we have a communication issue."

The clerk nodded by way of reply and reached for one of the nearby emergency radios when the lights in the building flickered and died. The clerk's call to her commander died in her throat as she saw a huge shape pass in front of the front window. The soft click of a disengaged safety reminded her that both her and the commander were armed with handguns. But as she made to reach for hers the front door began to bulge.

With a squeal the door was torn from its hinges and a dozen armed men poured into the room. There was a quick flash followed by several loud pops as the station commander fired at the attackers: one went down while the others returned fire with semi-automatic rifles. The clerk cowered beneath her desk, far too frightened to move, and waited for the assailants to find her. Instead they broke into the detention wing and came back out with the unconscious form of the prisoner that had been picked up during the previous night.

The clerk did not even dare to breathe as she huddled beneath the cover of the desk. Hours passed, and only when the sun came over the horizon did she finally leave. She found the office relatively untouched though several files had been removed from the cabinet, evidenced by the open drawers and scattered papers.

She found what remained of the station commander by the side of the desk. The intruders had shot him enough times that his torso had separated from his legs and now sat in a bloody offal that had stained the floor dark red. To her credit, the clerk did not break down immediately: she sent an emergency broadcast to the nearest Allied Post then began to take an inventory of what had been removed by the intruders. Only when the response teams arrived half an hour later and she was safely tucked into the back of an IFV did she finally allow herself to cry.

_Moscow, Unknown Location: 0934_

Grigory woke up with a headache that nearly sent him sprawling as he sat up. Gingerly reaching his hand to the back of his head he tried to take stock of the damage done. Suddenly a voice tore into his head and caused him to wince in agony.

"Aside from some bleeding and a massive welt, your head is unharmed Comrade."

It was a woman's voice. She was speaking in English for some reason but her accent was thick and unmistakable, Russian for sure.

"Ahh, woman. Speak lower; it hurts like hell up here." Grigory made a gesture to the back of his skull.

"Apologies, the doctor said to let you rest until the afternoon. But time is important and I needed to speak with you as soon as possible."

Grigory decided now was as good a time as any to open his eyes and see where he was. Besides the woman's voice sounded wonderful and he wanted to see the body that went with that voice. He was not disappointed.

He was sitting in a small room in what resembled a catacomb. His bed was a simple wooden cot with a woolen blanket on one end. In the doorway stood the owner of the voice, with her long dark hair and non-regulation uniform (Grigory was certain that mini-skirts were not standard issue) that showed off an amazing pair of legs, he nearly failed to recognize her.

"Comrade Dasha? I thought the Allies said you were killed during the battle for Leningrad?"

"No comrade, I am not that easily killed. The Allies merely stated what they wanted to believe. But I am far from dead and I will have my revenge on the capitalists." She said with a venomous emphasis on the last word.

"And how will you do that? The Red Army is disbanded, its officers disgraced, its soldiers paid off or hired by the very group they fought so hard to defeat." Grigory spat in disgust, drawing a brief look of annoyance from Dasha.

"You were picked up by some Allied MPs last night after you had nearly killed yourself in a drunken stupor. You were lucky I was looking for you otherwise you might find yourself in a far less favorable position." She said as she crossed the room to where Grigory sat uneasily on the edge of his cot. She crouched before him and showed him a folder filled with his military records.

"This was in their possession, they know you were a commander in the Tesla Corps and judging from the message traffic we managed to intercept, Telsa Corps troopers are in demand by the contractors used by the Allies. You would have disappeared and no one would have been the wiser." She stated as she handed the folder over.

Grigory was shocked by the amount of information the folder contained. It had everything from his favorite drink to his least travelled roads. Someone was very interested in him or what he knew.

"So why were you looking for me Comrade Dasha? I doubt you just wanted to warn me."

She straightened up and went to the doorway again. "If you would follow me I will show you."

Grigory shrugged and slowly stood up in order to keep himself from falling over. He followed the rapidly retreating Dasha as she wound her way through the stone catacombs: more than once he had to duck quickly to avoid a low hanging beam when his attention inevitable strayed from the hallway to the legs of his guide.

After several minutes of dodging beams and spider webs, he found himself in a room filled with old equipment. Most of it was obviously salvaged form the battlefield but in the center of the room stood a perfectly preserved suit of Tesla Armor. Grigory walked forward his headache forgotten as he beheld a something he had never thought to see again.

"What do you need from me?" He croaked, hardly able to believe his eyes.

"What you were trained to do, comrade. Lead my soldiers and help me drive the Allies rom our beloved Motherland." Dasha's voice was filled with passion and Grigory would not help but be drawn along by her patriotic fervor. He could almost see himself leading the Red Army to victory over the Allies he despised so much.

"There seems to be little in the way of personnel her Comrade Dasha…" he muttered, letting reality intrude upon his daydream.

"They are upstairs in the command room. I will introduce you after I am sure you'll join our cause." She pulled out another folder and held it in front of her. Grigory immediately recognized it as a mission dossier.

"This will be your first mission. Take this and I will know you are a loyal son of the Soviet Union. The Motherland needs your help. What say you?"

Grigory didn't even think about his response.

"I'm in." was all he said.

She smiled as Grigory took the mission dossier from her hands. "Welcome to the Uprising."


End file.
